I now understand why my Psychiatrist looked at me with such concern, when I told him that I was having surgery. I didn’t think anything of his few seconds of blank staring, as if he wanted me to respond to his nonverbal cues with the same sentiment; the only thing I could concentrate on at the time, was the fear of being put to sleep by anesthesia, and the irony of how awful I would feel after having such a much needed, as well as appreciated surgery. Dr. B proceeded to explain to me that the stress of the surgery could “temporarily” cause my mood to take a hit, but honestly, even after two months of trialing a new prescription with not much influence, how much worse could my mood get. So, I just listened intently to his concerns, agreed to increase my prescription dose, and accepted this “temporary” mood storm he described, that would add to my current category two to three hurricane of daily emotions.
Well, Dr. B’s weather prediction reign true. It’s been a little over a week since my surgery, and to say that it hasn’t been a storm of a time, would be a complete and utter lie; I’m miserable. The strides I had made prior to surgery, just seem like very distant memories, and the intensity of fog, made up of irritability and anger, has made me teeter on the brink of throwing in the towel. Of course I’m not giving up, because Dr. B said this would be temporary and my onemillenialsguide therapist David, suggested that depression be treated like a toddler, so I have all the evidence I need to push to fight to the end, but sadly, some days, not much willpower due to this new storms’ depletion of my strength. Saturday was a bad day and Sunday continued those bad vibes, threatening mine and my husband’s emotional ability, to have enough strength to try and enjoy a party that I had planned months ago.
I’ve always known that when I make plans, depression laughs, but that’s why I make plans, because though I may have to wrestle with depression putting me in an emotional casket, impeding me from seeing any possibility of enjoying my plans, I still HAVE to do it; I’m a mother, a wife, a family member, and a friend, and they need me to LIVE inspite of this illness. But living, doing things in this life, is painful at times, knowing that you just crawled into a corner and cried out of no where, about nothing, 10 minutes ago, and now you have to put on a brave face and smile, be excited to entertain at a birthday party, at a beautiful vineyard, acting as if everything is all good; you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, you don’t want to have to explain how you feel, you don’t want to ruin everyone else from having a good time, and you certainly don’t want your daughter to look back on her life and question why she didn’t have a first birthday party. So, we drove 30 minutes from our home in Nashville, to the beautiful grounds of Arrington Vineyards.
Was I anxious for no reason at all? Yes. Did I want to just go back home and crawl into my bed, so that the day would be a memory? Yes. But, as soon as we drove through those beautiful black, iron gates of the vineyard, I started to feel less of the desire to be in that bed. What changed my mood? Arrington; the only thing I could concentrate on was the gorgeous scenery before me, instead of the treachery internally.
Seeing our friends and family, feeling the unusually cool breeze on my skin, watching Sydney enjoy the nature she so loves, and knowing that Sage was getting the honor she deserved for her presence in our life for a whole year now, made me smile a smile that was far from forced. The discomfort of my wounds from surgery, became the internal struggle of new, which I didn’t mind and hardly noticed, due to how much I enjoyed being in my element. I love wine, I love vineyards, and I love unique gatherings, such as the one we had in this ‘sense of place’, on a beautiful Sunday evening. It was mindfulness at its best. The birds chirping elegantly as we sung happy birthday to Sage, resounded above the beautiful vines of grapes, the sweet aroma of the honeysuckle white wine, aroused a hearty sentiment amongst the group, and the greenery surrounding us, was utterly tantalizing.
Derrick and I couldn’t help but take a moment to be thankful, thankful for having what little willpower we had left in that day, to fight the woes of depression, and attend the party we had earnestly planned so long ago. We were beyond satisfied with our experience.
An experience we may have never had, had we given into the destructive tendencies of hurricane depression.
This temporary storm may keep raging, and though I may continue to get beat up, I am encouraged to fight on, because there is ‘a sense of place’ beyond what my cloudy mind can see.